


Sickly Night Blooms

by inujuju



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Caretaking, Fever, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nausea, Paranoia, Plant Poison, Poisoning, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:47:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26287462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inujuju/pseuds/inujuju
Summary: Claude is notorious for his curiosity and his caution. When one overrides the other though, it never end well.The mysterious flowers that have bloomed in the greenhouse have caught his attention. With no clear answers on what it is, and no desire to ask the one who knows, Claude decides to take it into his own hands. He'd rather risk an unpleasant night than bother Dedue. The other already handles so much.When the flowers go missing, Dedue knows who has them. He also knows what's going to occur. Not strong enough to stop it, he decides to mitigate instead. He hopes that Claude can forgive him.
Relationships: Dedue Molinaro/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48
Collections: 2020 Ultra Rarepair Big Bang





	Sickly Night Blooms

**Author's Note:**

> Gigglesob (aka Alex) and I's contribution to Ultra Rare Pair Big Bang 2020! A lovely sickfic of our precious boys Claude and Dedue.
> 
> You can find more of Alex's beautiful art on her twitter: [@kyoguru](https://twitter.com/kyoguru)
> 
> You can chat at me on my 18+ twitter: [@inujujula](https://twitter.com/inujujula)
> 
> Alex's art will feature in the second chapter. Please look forward to it!

Claude can't help but stick his nose into the new flowers that have bloomed in the greenhouse. They're tightly packed, petals not unfurling until evening, and even then only folding down a few inches. There is something to be said about a flower with more secrets than Claude, and the "shy" buds are something that Claude can't get out of his head.

He's looked through all his botany books, from the Alliance, Kingdom, and Empire. Even a few that he's sneaked across the border come up empty. Whatever these flowers are, it's either particularly special, and thus not documented for protection, or it's from somewhere that Claude isn't familiar with.

Just in case, he requests a book on Sreng vegetation from his grandfather. The man parts with it as payment for Claude coming to a recent round table meeting and not antagonizing Count Gloucester.

"Why you'd want such a thing is beyond me." He grumbled. "All of you is. Just don't cause any trouble that can interfere with your role."

Honestly, if his mother realized how much she was like her dad, she'd probably uppercut herself after uppercutting Claude.

Still, even with Sreng's books and Petra's knowledge of Brigid, Claude can't track down the flower. With a cold trail, Claude knows that there is only one other person who may know the identity of the plant. However, their relationship is strained, as their origins make it difficult to interact.

Dedue Molinaro, the stoic guard of Prince Dimitri and number one student who can't catch a break. Claude greets him, but rarely gets more than a nod. It's not that Dedue is rude, far from it, but it's not safe for either of them to be near each other. Claude is the strange alliance heir that's appeared out of nowhere. Dedue is the survivor of a genocide that the kingdom still swears is just. The two get enough rumors just for daring to breathe on Fodlan soil. Things would only be worse if they actually talked to one another.

Part of Claude does want to reach out. The Blue Lions is a pleasant mix of support and competition. Claude has no doubt that they'd welcome him to visiting with Dedue, if only to give the man another companion. Be it in the greenhouse, the dining hall, or perhaps the training grounds, Claude would be a friendly face that could help brighten the other's day.

And Claude does have Raphael on his side. No one can doubt Raphael's intentions, even if Claude oozes suspicion. If he approaches the man with Raphael at his side, they may be able to break the ice and have an actual conversation.

But that doesn't change the fact that they'd always need a buffer. Be it Raphael, Dimitri, or a professor, Claude and Dedue could never truly be alone with one another.

So Claude decides to do what he does best, which isn't reaching out and asking for help. He collects a cutting of the flower after the gardener leaves for the day and takes it to his room. He is careful with the plant, making sure to wear gloves as he handles it, using a pencil strictly for working with dangerous items, and more. He keeps his window open in case of gas, he makes a training plan with Ignatz so someone will check in with him, and he pockets some tonics from Manuela. Claude's no stranger to unfortunate accidents or to plants that cause them, so he makes sure everything is in place before he starts messing with it.

But his curiosity isn't satisfied with merely drawing the plant, with comparing it to existing ones. He tries to waft the smell, but can't pick up anything other than his leather gloves. He soaks it in water, but nothing happens outside of the solution turning white from the pollen. Claude can't figure out what the secret of the plant is, if there even is a secret at all. It's not particularly beautiful, nor does it seem to be attracting any insects outside of the normal bees the Monastery uses.

Regardless, his plans with Ignatz come up, so he puts the plant away, takes off his gloves, cleans up his desk, and grabs his practice bow.

* * *

Half way into their target practice, Claude feels a strange itch on the tips of his fingers. He checks them, but nothing seems out of place. Yet the burn worsens as the practice goes on and Claude finds himself sweating more than normal.

He avoids touching Ignatz as they clean up, even forgoing their normal high five. The painter frowns at Claude's more reserved nature, but Claude himself doesn't want to spread whatever he carelessly picked up from that damn plant.

And it has to be the plant. He's running through his memories what he did wrong could have done wrong. He avoids touching his face, his hair, everything as he walks back to the greenhouse. The door is locked, and the gardener lives in the restricted adult area. Claude could try sneaking his way there, but this late at night means the patrols are starting. The idea of trying to sneak over there without being able to touch anything is far from easy.

He could give his hands a quick wash in the pond, but should he even risk it? What if he sticks his hand into the water and all the fish come up dead? Claude really underestimated the real dangers of plants. He forgot to plan what happened if he messed up despite his precautions.

Still, with his crest, Claude should be able to ride out the effects for the night. He'd prefer to lick his wounds without causing a scene. In the morning he'll confront the gardener. If they have no answers, Claude will concede to the embarrassment of going to a hungover Manuela. Regardless, he brought this upon himself. A night of suffering will do good to teach him better.

Heading back to his dorm, Claude is careful to use the cuffs of his clothes to turn door handles. People are shuffling in the halls, but he pays them no mind, set on getting to his room and curling up near a bucket for the night.

Which is why he's surprised when Dedue is standing beside his door, visiting with a concerned looking prince.

"Oh, Claude, there you are." Prince Dimitri greets, face shifting from a frown to a smile and back again. "Dedue was telling me how some of the mafuta flowers he was growing were cut this evening. We're trying to figure out who grabbed them."

"Cut? As in taken?" Claude says, feeling the sweat collect on his neck, his lips dry, the world shift. "What brings you to my room for that?"

"Come now, Claude, it's no secret that you have a strong curiosity and tend to take things that aren't yours."

Claude huffs, hating the show he's putting on as his heart beats in his ears. He wants to be in his room. Preferably alone. Preferably without those damn flowers reminding him of his mistake. "Accusing me of being a thief is crude even for you, your highness."

"Ah, my apologies Claude, that's not what I meant-"

"It doesn't matter." Claude says, with perhaps more spite than he means. His current station makes his growing temper hard to control. "What's the concern with the missing flowers?"

"Ah," Dedue speaks for the first time. "They're for... a project I was working on."

"Bullshit." Claude cuts in, surprising them both. He sighs. "Just, I'm not in the mood okay. I'm not feeling too well." He turns away from them, opens his door and, just maybe, slams it on their concerned faces.

* * *

Dedue readies himself to visit Claude like a man going to battle. He's laid out the sticky balm that will protect his skin from the mafuta's irritation, mild though it may be for him. The last thing he wants to do is spread it any further should Claude's belongings be covered in it. By now, Claude himself should be safe to touch and assist, but the oil has a horrible tendency to stay active in clothes.

He changes into a special set of his academy garb, one that Dimitri bought for him just for the purpose of gardening. With it, he needs not worry of sullying himself with dirt or fertilizer, and can do the delicate yet messy work required for plants. It brings the additional boon of allowing him to keep an outfit set aside for personal cleaning, so that he may ensure that any aspects of plants that may get on him doesn't carry around the campus. With the amount of times he's been covered in pollen from one of the larger, more active plants, Dedue has found it welcoming. Now, it is a necessity.

Prior to dressing, Dedue works the balm onto his hands, arms, neck, and face. For additional safety, he does his feet and ankles. He has to wait a few minutes for the lotion to absorb enough that he's not sticking to everything. Therefore, he busies himself with filling a washbasin with water he keeps strictly for cleaning. This way, when he returns to his room, he can easily place his sullied clothes in the water to soak for the night.

Or during the day may be more accurate, depending on how bad Claude is. The other student's stubbornness was a concern earlier in the day, but not a surprise. Dedue had not given him any reason to feel comfortable reaching out, and Claude has never been one to pry when he's not welcome. Though his curiosity tends to ignore this when it comes to objects, it seems.

Grabbing a small sack, Dedue fills it with more lotion, various supplies for the rash and fever Claude will likely develop, along with water and cloths to help clean and hydrate them throughout the night. He brings his gardening gloves, wishing he had a more traditional pair that might be softer on sensitive skin rather than his harsh leather. Still, he brings what he can and leaves his room with the full intent on helping the other.

Dedue regrets many things in his life. Not being able to protect his family, not being able to protect Dimitri, not being able to protect himself. And now, another regret solidifies in his heart. The mafuta flowers are meant to be planted near graves, to help keep wildlife from dirtying them while giving the living a soft, delicate reminder of what they have lost. Of what they live for. Dedue had been unable to grow them back in Fhirdiad, the soil too soft and acidic to hold the roots well. When he expressed a desire to grow some in the monastery, Dimitri had encouraged it, and with the help of their professors, he was given approval.

He had made sure to explain the dangers of the plant to the gardener. They had taken notes from Dedue, and made sure to handle the seeds and growing stems with care. They had been placed in the dangerous plants portion of the greenhouse, and outside of the gardener, no one else was permitted to touch them. One person, however, had a tendency to ignore that rule.

Claude knew every plant in the greenhouse and more. He could rattle off all their uses, both historical and current, as easily as Dimitri could break a spear. He knew their dangers, their benefits, their sensitivities, peculiarities, and more. He was a botany master despite not partaking in growing the plants himself. It was an area of interest, and so he consumed it.

Dedue had been worried that Claude would not be able to contain himself as the mafutas began to flower. They were rather simple plants, but the long stems up to the bunched flowers were odd. They held strong despite their appearance, at odds with the drooping leaves that were long and flimsy. Pink wasn't a rare colour in flowers, but it often spoke of human involvement, of crossing different shades to get the softer reds.

The gardener had been given a concerned reminder to not let Claude touch them, to come to Dedue with any questions that the gardener could not answer. Perhaps the gardener had done their due diligence, or perhaps they hadn't, or perhaps it wouldn't have mattered. Claude had chosen to investigate the plant alone rather than seek Dedue out. And Dedue... couldn't fault him for that.

Regardless of how the situation had played out, it had to be Dedue's fault. It was the only way he could accept the growing concern, strong in his chest. His speed picked up, pushing him up the stairs to the nobles wing. In the long, deserted hallway, Dedue was reminded of his choice to stay isolated in his class. To prevent anyone the displeasure of interacting with him. Not only did Dedue know he was... difficult at times due to his mannerisms, but nothing favorable could come out of speaking with him. Faerghus had taught him that, had reminded him of that every day since his families murder. Dimitri, Ashe, Mercedes... they were exceptions. Special cases. They had a kindness to them that most people in Fodlan didn't, and Dedue could not expect that kindness from others. If it wasn't his fault, Dedue shouldn't be concerned with Claude's health. They were strangers, acquaintances at best. He should only interact with his class rather than hurt others with his presence.

Regardless of his feelings though, Dedue still approaches Claude's door. He stops, counted to ten and back down to zero, reminded himself that he was only here to help Claude and nothing more. As he entered, he hears the other retching, and was hit once more with guilt.

The door hadn't been locked. The mess of books Claude often complained about had been pushed to the sides, creating a clear path to Claude. Clothes were folded on his bed and Claude himself was dressed despite the warmth in the room.

Dedue wonders if Claude had predicted this. Or, more likely, predicted someone finding him in the morning.

If only Dedue had reached out to Claude, rather than expecting Claude to reach out to him...

Claude is curled around a bucket, sickly frame shaking and face a mix of pale and flushed. Dark cheeks, wide eyes, as if he was flickering between hot and cold too quickly for his body to decide where to stop.

Closing the door behind him, Dedue sets down his bag and approaches the other. Kneeling next to Claude, he sets a hand on his back.

"What kind of demon flowers are you growing, Dedue?" Claude grumbles out, voice weak and horse. "What kind of vendetta do you have against me?" He looks up, eyes locking with Dedue's, hazed yet sharp, pained yet determined. "They're for a 'project'? Yeah right. What moron of a professor would approve such problematical disasters?"

Dedue takes the verbal lashing, the hateful grumbling. As Claude coughs up more phlegm and acid, he rubs his back in what he can only help is soothing.

Why did he come here again?

"I don't get you." Claude starts up again, gripping the pail and glaring at its contents. "I don't. You- this isn't your fault damn it! Why are you just-" Claude's nails scratch against the wood, his eyes fill with tears. "Why are you just sitting here letting me yell at you?"

Claude looks at him, goes to grab Dedue by his shoulders- "Why do you let me do it? Why do you let others? Why are you _like_ this?" He slaps his hands against his own chest instead. Water mixes with snot and saliva as Claude cries. "I hate this. I hate this so much." He curls into himself, trying to contain his emotions but failing all the same.

Dedue doesn't know what to do, how to act, at that moment. All he can offer is his presence and hope it is enough.


End file.
